No Sleeves
by Tako Phin
Summary: "I can't keep my jersey on my shoulder like Yukimura-buchou so I just wear it like Yanagi-senpai." Kirihara said. Yanagi knew very well what atrocity he hid behind that jersey. He prayed that Kirihara was only mimicking his fashion sense and nothing else.
1. No Sleeves

**AN: Again, whenever I can't finish Prince of Cowardice (PoC) in a week, I'll always prepare something else instead. When I do that, I end up having to spend more extra time on the new story and less time on PoC, which might mean I need to prepare more stories which means more postponing for PoC. Vicious cycle XD**

 **Warning: Self harm**

 **Story is set in Akaya's third year. The rest of the Rikkai regulars have graduated.**

* * *

"Long time no see, Akaya."

The person whose name was mentioned turned his attention away from the club practice he was observing towards the source. "Yukimura-buchou!" The current captain of Rikkaidai exclaimed estaticly as he promptly abandoned his duty and ran to give his former captain a tight hug.

While in his former captain's embrace, Kirihara caught sight of two other figures following behind Yukimura. "Sanada-fukubuchou! Yanagi-senpai!" He called. Though Kirihara did not hug them and only stood there after he let Yukimura go. His mind told him that hugging any of them would result in an extremely awkward situation.

"We're no longer your captain and vice captain." Sanada scolded. Kirihara scowled back. His former vice captain always found a way to scold him of the tiniest thing in the world. "You're the captain now."

Well, by name only. To Kirihara, they're always his captain and vice captain. He would give an arm and a leg for it to remain that way forever, at least until he was strong enough to snatch the 'strongest' title away from them.

It was such a weird feeling to be seeing the three demons of Rikkaidai once again, especially when they were not clad in the usual yellow uniform. Not that the white shirt and grey trousers they were wearing made their presence any less imposing though. Kirihara voiced this feeling out to them.

Yukimura chuckled. "You're also dressed differently than before." He pointed at the jersey that Kirihara was wearing, fully zipped to the collar.

"Oh this?" Kirihara lifted his arm up to gesture at the long sleeved fabric. "I can't keep my jersey on my shoulder like Yukimura-buchou so I wear it like Yanagi-senpai." He said.

"' _I can't understand why you constantly wear your jersey, Yanagi-senpai. It's already hot enough outside, it feels like you're playing tennis with a blanket_.' That is the exact words you told me before." Yanagi mimicked Kirihara's manner of speaking. It still sounded convincing despite the monotonous tone it was delivered with.

Kirihara glanced sideways and scratched the bottom of his earlobe. Damn Yanagi and his computer of a brain. "Uh… Since I'm the captain now I kinda want to look, you know, cooler?"

The expression on Yanagi's face was unreadable. Sanada looked like he was going to scold Kirihara again had Yukimura not talked first.

"But Sanada doesn't wear his jersey at all and he's the vice captain. Renji's just the treasurer."

A droplet of sweat trickled from Kirihara's temple, trailing down his cheek. It was clearly not the only droplet for Kirihara's face was evidently glossy under the bright afternoon sun. His unkempt black hair also looked more tame if only because some of the wild strands were wet.

Yanagi decided he had gathered enough evidence. He took a step forward from where Yukimura and Sanada were standing. "I need to speak to Akaya in private for a moment." He informed the other two without looking at them. Kirihara wasn't sure what to take of the situation. He could not read what his senior was thinking especially with those closed lids.

But the tone Yanagi had used was filled with such sense of urgency that all Yukimura said was, "Don't take too long."

Walking behind Kirihara, Yanagi led him to the club's locker room. He gestured Kirihara to enter the room first, then he followed and pushed the door shut using his back.

"Undress."

Kirihara spun on his heel at the curt remark. "What?!"

"Remove your jersey." Yanagi rephrased.

Kirihara gave him an incredulous look. "Why should I?" He drawled.

"You clearly look heated in the jersey."

One hand flung to scratch his ear lobe again. "Uh…well I just have practice match just now. So of course I'll be sweaty." Kirihara reasoned.

Yanagi's expression was calm as usual. "Then remove it to prove that you have nothing to hide underneath."

Kirihara's eyes bulged like a deer in headlights. His gaze flicked left, then right. No way out. The only way was to force it through his senior. Kirihara did not know what had gone through his brain, but at that time it seemed like a good idea to confront his senior in a power competition. He tried to pull the door open while Yanagi kept the door pushed shut. The door did not budge at all.

Frustrated, Kirihara placed another hand on the knob and re-channeled all his energy to pull the door open with a war cry. He had been so focused on trying to escape that he did not anticipate the sudden movement from his senior. His eyes only managed to register a sudden blur of white, and the next thing he knew a hand had gripped his left shoulder and his wrist. Yanagi was standing at his side, holding him in place. Kirihara cried out, not because of the sudden attack, but rather by the painfully tight grip at the _wrong_ place. He should not have, for Yanagi's eyes snapped open at the noise.

There was no use struggling to free himself. Kirihara shut his eyes closed as he felt the long sleeve of his jersey being rolled up his arm to his elbow.

Yanagi was surprisingly silent about what he saw.

Splotches of discoloration the size of a knuckle marred all over his pale skin. Most jarring ones were fresh garish purple and red; The less recent ones had blackened, and a few in the process of healing were hues of green and yellow. Kirihara's arm looked more like a work of art.

Yanagi's fingers that were wrapped around Kirihara's wrist painfully pressed down onto a sizable red bruise. Noticing it, Yanagi quickly let go as if he had been holding hot coal. Kirihara let his arm fell limply beside him with his sleeve rolled halfway up. He could not be bothered to fix it.

The cat's out of the bag now. It was so tempting to dash out the door and pretended none of this had ever happened. The door was just right there next to him. So what if Yanagi know? He was no longer his senior. He couldn't do anything.

Tilting his head slightly to the left, Kirihara glared at the other's eyes that were hidden behind closed lids. Only the faint sound of tennis ball being rallied outside could be heard. Kirihara's shoulder raised up and down rapidly, taking in air in short breaths.

"Self harm." Yanagi began, sounding like a doctor analyzing his patient.

"As if I would do something that stupid!" Kirihara snapped angrily.

"Domestic abuse."

"No…" Kirihara's face scrunched in disgust. The thought of that happening was just horrible.

"Street fight."

Kirihara was quick to agree. "Yeah." His eyes lit up, only for a brief moment for it immediately returned to the hollow darkness. "But I don't hit people, I swear!"

Yanagi opened his eyes and stared back at Kirihara. "It is very common in a street fight to aim for the face as one of the most vulnerable area. Considering the extend of the bruising on your arm, it is expected for your face to suffer the same fate. I would expect to see at least one wound there."

"On top of that," Yanagi continued before Kirihara could defend himself. "This assumption fails when you analyze the angle of the contusions. No form of attack can reach the inner part of your arm. And no, there is no form of defense that exposes those areas to the opponent. The only possible explanation is-"

"Stop." Kirihara's voice was wavering. His eyes fell down to his exposed arm dangling at his side and he closed his eyes. Taking a deep breath and releasing it, he tried to keep his voice from trembling.

"I got it." Kirihara tried to speak with his usual animated tone. It came out very strained. "Look, Yanagi-senpai. It's not self harm. I mean it is, but really it's not. It's- argh!" Kirihara cried out in frustration, his hand came up to yank on his curly strands of hair.

"It's just-" Kirihara glared, his hand still playing roughly with his hair. _It's just that I need something to_

 _beat up whenever my devil mode rises. I don't want to do that anymore, so I hit myself instead._ That explanation sounded so stupid Kirihara might as well not say it.

"Just leave it, okay? I promise I won't do it again." Kirihara quickly added the last sentence. With luck, that was all Yanagi needed to hear and they could end this conversation now.

"You will." Yanagi's reply was curt.

"How could you say that?" Kirihara gritted his teeth, his hands now clenched on his sides. He knew Yanagi was speaking the truth, but his pride prevented him from accepting it. He spun to face his senior directly. "You may be our data master, but you know nothing about this! Don't talk as if you do!" Kirihara barked, his breath ragged.

Yanagi stared at him with with his closed eyes for several seconds. Just when Kirihara's fuse was about to burst for a second time, Yanagi lifted his left arm with his palm facing up. Kirihara's eyes warily followed as Yanagi neatly rolled the white uniform fabric along his arm and stopped his elbow.

Kirihara's breath was caught in his throat when he saw the familiar color. _Black_ , just like the ones Kirihara had. But there was only one on Yanagi's arm. Kirihara's eyes narrowed accusingly.

"' _You probably get that from an accident or something_ ' is what you are going to say." Yanagi deducted preemptively. "No. I gave this to myself, in the same manner as you do." As if to prove his point, Yanagi balled his right hand to a fist and swung it down at where the bruise was, stopping just before it hit. Kirihara was no detective but even he could see that the shape of the bruise matched the way Yanagi angled his fist.

Kirihara's eyes widened. No way his senior was doing this kind of thing! He flicked his gaze at Yanagi. There was nothing in his senior face that could give him a room for doubt. There was just no way in earth that his senior was harming himself. Unlike Kirihara, Yanagi did not have devil mode. So there's no way in earth… "Liar." Kirihara hissed very softly.

Yanagi unclenched his fist and draped it gently over the purple splotch, his thumb rubbing the colored spot tenderly. "Bruises heal, Akaya. You can not tell now, but this arm has suffered such blemishes since the regionals."

A twinge of pain seized Kirihara's heart. Regionals was almost a year ago. That was when they lost. That was when Yanagi lost. Was that why-? But Kirihara had lost too!

"But-!"

Yanagi did not let Kirihara speak. "You had interrupted Genichirou's punishment back then and I appreciate that. However, that did not placate my need to atone for my loss. I had gotten to a point where my hand looked very similar to yours."

Kirihara's mouth was wide open. Images of his senior clad in his jersey flashed in his mind. All this time Yanagi acted like everything was fine while hiding such hideous thing?

"Human's mind is very versatile." Yanagi continued. "Just like how the bruises heal without a trace on your skin, the mind learn to overcome the pain. The next time, it requires more effort to inflict the same amount of intensity. But your body is not as versatile."

Kirihara shook his head, trying in vain to deny something he fully understood about. But Kirihara took pride that he never attempted anything more stupid other than the bruises. "Do you…?" The question would have made no sense to anyone else, except his mind-reading senior.

"Neither I am, or so I thought." Kirihara was afraid of what Yanagi still had in store. Yanagi continued to roll his sleeve above his shoulder right to his shoulder. Kirihara's eyes widened even more if that was possible, no words could escape his gaping mouth.

Right above Yanagi's elbow was a protruding reddish-pink jagged line that sliced diagonally across his upper arm. Definitely a knife wound based on the size. Upon closer look, Kirihara winced upon discovering that Yanagi had sliced the same place _twice_.

Bruises were one thing, cutting yourself was another thing altogether. Kirihara felt bile rising up to his throat. "That's sick." Kirihara muttered, averting his eyes away.

"Then what are you doing?" Yanagi retorted coldly. "The scar is done after I realize blunt force was no longer effective. What you're doing now is no different than what I have done. You're following my steps. It is a matter of time until you reach this stage. Isn't that ' _sick_ ' as well?

Kirihara could feel his blood boiling at the last sentence. Hell if he would fall so low as to do that! Kirihara shut his eyes and bit his lip, both his fists were shaking from being clenched so tightly until the nails embedded to his palm. Curse his senpai for always knowing what to say to provoke him! He had tried so hard to keep it sealed, he was not about to lose it now!

"Answer me, Akaya."

Yanagi just _had to_ push him over the edge. The bloating pressure inside Akaya exploded. He had to unleash this, and there was only one way to prevent him from hurting someone else. In swift movement, he raised his right arm to a fist together and swung it down at his left arm.

He could feel his fist making contact with flesh and hear the sickening crack of bones. Yet he did not feel the pain that should accompany it. Kirihara snapped his now bloodshot eyes open and jerked when he saw Yanagi's bare arm above Kirihara's left arm, blocking his punch. He could hear a soft hiss escaping from Yanagi's lips, causing Kirihara to turn his eyes at him.

"Oh shit! Did I hurt you?" Kirihara asked frantically. No no, he was supposed to contain this _thing_ inside him. He could not go around hitting people again! He-!

In one swift motion, Yanagi's bare arm seized Kirihara's neck and pushed him against the door. The grip was tight enough to constrict but not to block his airway. Kirihara latched both hands on Yanagi's, trying to push the hand away from his neck. His body was shaking as he tried to control the urge to bite his nails into the very vulnerable skin under them, to pound at the hand until it was too weak to keep him up, to spring his feet out right at that person's abdomen… Kirihara bit his lip until a trickle of red dripped down his chin.

"I was mistaken." Yanagi said, his voice was heavy with regret. "It turns out this is something I am responsible for."

Kirihara did not listen to what the other was saying. He could feel his nail digging into the flesh, gradually tearing the stands apart. The pain on his lip grew numb. Everything became numb and swirly and he was slowly losing control-.

"Then unleash it all to me."

Why the hell was Yanagi provoking him! ? Kirihara's body trembled even more. Kirihara jerked his head down. He could feel wet liquid seeping through his fingers. Blood. He should withdraw his hands. _But he deserved it!_ _Crush him dry!_

"I made you. I can control you."

 _Stop provoking me!_

Blood red took over Kirihara's usual pale skin and his black hair was bleached white. With a glass-scratching howl that threw his head back with a loud snap, he kicked against Yanagi's stomach with enough ferocity to send him crashing against the locker across them with a loud metallic clang.

Kirihara was no longer thinking. He could hear himself cackle. _What was so funny_? All he could see was red. Not enough red in this room. _He did not want to hurt people again_. More blood! That person cowering at the corner was not drenched in red. _He should not hurt his senior!_ Drench the person in his own blood!

Yanagi gritted his teeth as he tried to breathe, one hand nursing his abdomen. The other arm was still minutely twitching from the punch earlier, thin trails of crimson seeped through the nail scratches and trickled down his arm. He could hear the overwhelming expression of euphoria from the other male overlapping the ringing in his head.

The devil became closer towards the wounded man with each step, his fingers stretched crookedly at his sides and his crimson eyes glaring at Yanagi like a predator would to its prey.

Yanagi's rib hurt with every breath he took. His heart was thrumming madly. His mind was hazy from the intense pain around his body. Even so, he could make a run for this if he wanted to. He chose to stay.

 _Don't hurt yourself. You don't deserve it._

"Go on, seaweed head. Crush me." That should eliminate any trace of hesitation left in devil Kirihara, leaving only pure unbridled rage behind. Yanagi smiled through pained countenance, his body instinctively tensed as he braced himself for the following pain that would come.

The devil roared in his cracked voice and flashed Yanagi a mad grin before he pounced on the wounded man. Wild chortling and sound of flesh clashing against the metallic locker punctuated every single bones cracked. Unrestrained blow after blow were dealt by the devil. A sharp cry occasionally slipped past stoic lips.

 _It's alright if you can't control yourself. I have your leash._

The sound of frantic footstep mixed in the cacophony moments later.

By the time the door was flung open, the deadly symphony had ended.


	2. Number Game

A racquet, two tennis balls, three steps…Kirihara might not be a genius in Mathematics, but he knew how to do simple calculation.

"One." Kirihara pointed at the black splotch on his wrist.

Kirihara had never liked Mathematics that much. He _loathed_ it now.

"Two," His index finger moved several distances up to stop at a similar looking blemish on his skin, only this one is red. He flipped his arm and pointed at the midsection of his lower arm. "Three." He hissed.

"Total three. That should be all." Kirihara declared with a scoff, his face grimacing in a mix of embarrassment and annoyance. He could not understand why his senior made him do this on weekly basis. He did this to himself, he did not need to count how many marks he had left behind.

"Four"

"What?" Kirihara furrowed his eyebrows.

"You missed the one right below your elbow. It has not healed completely." Yanagi noted impassively as he leaned against the door. Kirihara hated his senior and his thoroughness in doing everything and whatever he was subjecting him to now.

"Fine. Four. Happy?" Kirihara snapped, yanking the sleeve of his jersey down to cover the entire length. After doing it for weeks already, he still could not understand Yanagi's obsession on the number of bruises he had. If it's only about the number, three (or four as he insisted) was his lowest record yet. In fact, the number had been on a declining streak for almost three consecutive weeks now. Shouldn't Yanagi be happy then, and get this over with?

No. Yanagi was still standing there, quietly observing him behind closed lids. It unnerved Kirihara how this always happened every single time and he _knew_ it would. He still faithfully followed him to the locker room anyway, irrationally abandoning the ongoing practice match he was engaged in. What happened inside was automatic, Yanagi let Kirihara enter first, he closed the door, Kirihara rolled up the jersey's sleeve covering his left arm, then he began. _One, two, three…_

Yanagi took a step away from the door towards Kirihara. Then another. Kirihara groaned, his eyes shut. He knew what would happen next. But no matter how much he prepared himself, it would still happen. He hated himself for letting it happen each and every time.

"Four." The scornful tone of Yanagi's whisper next to his ear brought shiver down Kirihara's body. Kirihara balled his palm to a tight fist. He _would_ contain it this time round.

"What happened to twenty?" Why did Yanagi have to bring up his worst record? "Did you finally lose it and hit someone else?" Yanagi's tone was cold, mercilessly jabbing him, pushing all his buttons one by one.

Kirihara shook his head, his eyes firmly shut. No matter how good Yanagi was with his words, he himself knew the truth, and he knew he had _it_ contained all the time.

 _Except here_.

"Or perhaps," Yanagi suddenly seized Kirihara's right wrist, jolting him in surprise. Kirihara hesitantly followed Yanagi's movement as the other male brought his other hand to caress his clothed arm, down from Kirihara's right shoulder all the way to the tip of his fingers. Breathe in, breathe out. Kirihara managed to give no reaction other than an involuntary shudder at the unexpected intimacy.

With his hands still holding up Kirihara's, Yanagi bent his head down and whispered next to Kirihara's ear. "Silly me. I actually thought that you would hurt yourself somewhere else. Even if you do, surely you won't choose a place so obvious?"

That made his stomach lurch. Kirihara wrestled his right hand away, a move he deeply regretted afterwards. He was inadvertently affirming Yanagi's deduction. Fuck, he was losing ground again. The only way to get up was to- no, he could not. Kirihara could feel blood rushing to his eyes, his heartbeat beating madly. Kirihara snapped his left hand around his right wrist, trembling as he tried to keep right hand where it was. He could not resort to this every single fucking time!

Yanagi straightened his posture and stared Kirihara down. "Hit me." He opened his perpetually closed eyes, further pushing the already agitated Kirihara over the edge. "Otherwise I'll strip you down and find your new hiding spot."

The last thing Kirihara recalled before his conscience was taken over by hot, untamed red was the nasty sound of bones clashing as his right fist smashed Yanagi's temple.

Kirihara was burning inside. His vision was swirling and red and _not enough red_. His hands were frantically swinging, cracking, breaking something, drawing more _red_. His hands were not enough. His legs were also in action, slamming into something soft and hard at the same time. That whimper of misery, _oh_ , how melodious it was to hear that! _More! MORE-!_

Suddenly the malicious red cloud dissipated from his mind, letting him think clearly once again. Kirihara blinked. He was on his knees, one of his hand twisted behind and his back was pressured down. "Time's up." Someone said. Who…? Kirihara turned his head to the source of the voice.

Yanagi.

A rush of information flooded Kirihara's mind and suddenly the situation made sense. Kirihara slammed his fist onto the ground. He lost it, _AGAIN!_

He did not know when, but Yanagi had released his hand and wordlessly left the locker room at some point. He was too frustrated to care what was happening around him. He did not even notice that he was alone, kneeling in the locker room until someone called out. "Kirihara-buchou, what are you doing?"

Kirihara looked up. It was the member he was playing with before all this shit happened. "Just wait for me in the court. I'll be there shortly." Kirihara dismissed him.

Once he was alone again in the room, Kirihara put one foot on the ground, propelling himself to a standing position. He was only halfway up when a sharp sting to his abdomen brought him back on one knee. _Agh!_ Kirihara wrapped his hand around his stomach, pressing his palm against the most distinct source of the pain. It was fine during tennis. He had overexerted himself in whatever his devil self had done just now. Kirihara gritted his teeth to prevent any tell-tale noise from involuntarily escaping his lips.

Forcing himself up despite his stomach's stinging protest, he limped his way to the bathroom several steps away. He stood before the sink mirror staring at his reflection. His shoulder raising up and down laboriously and his hair looked more unkempt than it already was. Basically, he looked like he had just been through a brawl, and in a way he had, Kirihara glared at his reflection. _Because you're too weak to keep it in!_

He lifted both his jersey and his shirt up to his chest level. On the area that was throbbing badly were three very dark purple splotches. He took a deep breath. _'One, two, three…'_ Kirihara began counting absentmindedly. He detested this to hell and back, yet he found himself doing it every single time.

Nine, plus the four on his arm which brings it to…Kirihara paused for a while, counting on his fingers. Thirteen.

Kirihara shook his head. He should not spend too much time lest he roused unnecessary suspicions. He fixed his shirt and his jersey back, the two layers provided impenetrable shield to the hideous marks behind. He also made sure the sleeve on his left arm was properly back in place.

He had only taken one step away when the pain shot up to his knees, causing him to lurch forward. The only thing that kept him from slamming the floor face first was his right hand that managed to perch strongly onto the sink in time.

Not only it was difficult to deal a blow effectively, it was also doing him a disfavor in school. Stomach was definitely out of option next time round, Kirihara noted to himself grimly. But now he needed another new limb or it's back to his left arm. His right arm was definitely out. Perhaps his legs? But he needed them for tennis. His head? He still needed whatever brain cells he had hidden behind that skull of his.

As long as Yanagi came to check on him weekly, it's either that, or he would start beating his teammates again. Kirihara groaned, trying his best to ignore the pain as he made his way out. He would figure that out later. He still had captain responsibility to attend to.

* * *

A hit to the temple and a kick to his abdomen. The worst being the hit to his shoulder which was already damaged from their previous encounter, making a total of three. Yanagi stared at his naked upper torso in the mirror. His two hands were free from any blemishes save from the jarring scar above his left elbow. In stark contrast, both his front and back were covered in discolorations the size of someone's fist or foot, most had turned greenish yellow. It looked as if Yanagi had a different skin tone for his torso as compared to the rest of his limbs.

' _One, two, three…'_ He counted mentally. Nine greenish ones, five dark black ones, and four violent red. With the addition of three fresh ones he had just gotten, it made up a total of twenty one.

It would have been more had Kirihara not forcefully subdue as much rage as possible prior to their meeting. Yanagi knew those 'four' were nothing but a show, at best a display of Kirihara's slip in his attempt of fooling him.

And this need of fooling him came from his inability to control his inner demon, which would not be the case had Yanagi not given _it_ birth and bred _it_ to such extent-

Yanagi took a deep breath. He knew what to do when this thing built up inside him.

Raising his right fist, he brought it down swiftly to strike his left arm. His brain recognized the attack simultaneously with the cracking sound it had made, alerting him of the unnatural assault with sharp jolting pain. The tolerance he had built from previous experience had dulled the stringing to a mere uncomfortable throb. He hit the same spot again, and again, and again, until his left arm felt nothing but pain.

Twenty two.

Yanagi slipped his short-sleeved PE shirt on. Back then, he was fortunate that the teacher allowed him to keep his tennis jersey on during sports lesson. No such luck now. Thankfully the sleeve was long enough to cover his scar.

Yanagi looked at his reflection once again, his eyes fixated at the freshly assaulted area on his left arm, the prickling aftermath of the pain still coursing through his veins albeit less intensely.

Currently zero on his arm. Yanagi knew it would become one soon, one that he could easily justify by unjustly blaming sports.

But never twenty two.

* * *

 **AN: I'm turning this into a series of one-shots, sort of. They're related, but they can be read separately too I suppose. There is no schedule to the update, hence I'm putting this as complete.**


	3. No Mercy

**1\. Akaya**

 _"Zero" Kirihara proudly counted. For once he was able to show a spotless, no bruise arm. This was the first time he could earnestly grin in their weekly 'check-up' session._

 _Yanagi stared at the skin displayed, perhaps scrutinizing if there was a needle-sized bruise his eyes had missed. Too bad, Kirihara made sure he aimed everything to his upper arm, and he only needed to roll his sleeve to his elbow._

 _"Very well."_

 _Kirihara's eyes lit up._

 _"This shall be our last session."_

* * *

Kirihara totally did not expect to trick his senior! It took him a few weeks to train himself from hitting his arm and aim it at his upper arm instead to leave his lower arm blemish-less, thus proving to Yanagi that there was no longer any meaning to their meeting.

There was really no meaning to their meeting though, Kirihara reasoned. He was more than capable of sealing his devil-mode inside, or at least as long as his body was still strong enough to continue playing the victim. Whenever someone stupid tried to trigger his devil mode by badmouthing him, he just had to walk away quickly to somewhere solitary and blew all his steam to his upper arm before his malicious alternate self could take over.

He had not considered cases where he _could not_ walk away.

Kirihara could feel his sanity slipping. Running from one corner to another corner as he chased after the ball, rallying shots after shots under the smoldering afternoon sun against one of the most annoying and biggest rival he had in a practice match. Kirihara loathed endurance game, even more so when it's initiated by Seigaku's Viper who was throwing him all sorts of unpredictable shots to every end of the court.

It didn't help that he was losing _and_ they had been playing for an _hour_ straight _AND_ the score was only 0-1, not to his favor.

It was automatic for him to release _it_ when faced with tough opponents. That was how he had been trained to respond during his two years in Rikkai. That was also how he had faced this exact opponent during Nationals last year. The devil was standing right before his mind's door, waiting to pounce it open. Kirihara had to just say the word.

No. He could not. When he persisted to end the session with Yanagi, it was because he believed he could control the devil inside and not to unleash it to someone else instead. He bit down his lip, letting the pain kick his sanity awake so he could channel all his focus into the intense rally he was engaged in.

Kaidoh scored with a curved ball he called 'short snake'. 15-0.

Kirihara bit his lips even harder. That feeling of having a boiling lava was slowly burning him, a sign he knew very well that he was getting very, very pissed off. Kirihara needed to hit something, anything. His grip on his racquet was shaking desperately. He did not even notice a trail of blood trickling down his chin.

"Fsshh…Kirihara, are you okay?" Kaidoh asked from the other side of the court.

 _DON'T YOU DARE LOOK DOWN ON ME!_ "I'm…fine. Just continue." Kirihara managed to choke out, wiping the liquid he assumed was sweat with the back of his hand. This was bad. He could not hit himself in the public. Should he excuse himself to the toilet? That would be very poor, especially since he was the captain of the team that hosted this practice match. Kirihara needed to find a way to satisfy this bloodlust before it consumed him. He glared at his opponent, his eyes unconsciously intently scrutinizing his every limb. Damn it! He was _not_ looking for an open target on his enemy!

He could feel something trickling out of his mouth again. As he brought up his left hand to wipe it off, he saw something red smeared on it. As he did so, he caught sight of his curled index finger, to be precise the lower part with most flesh.

Kirihara was not thinking anything when he sank his teeth into it. As expected, pain jolted his nerves awake. Too bad it was not as acute as his usual method, so Kirihara had to put as much force as he could to make it worth something. It felt as if he was trying to rip a meat off its bones.

Suddenly there was less red in his vision and Kirihara breathed a sigh of relief. He did not notice that the devil already had one foot out. He released his fangs from the flesh and let his hand fall to his side, the contours of his teeth embedded deeply to his finger. He could see his opponent staring at him with a confused look.

"Continue!" Kirihara yelled.

Kirihara could see hesitation in Kaidoh's eyes as he served the ball. Kirihara ran to return the serve and cursed. Kaidoh had put less strength to his serve. He probably thought Kirihara was feeling unwell or something. How dare him to look down on him! He'd make him regret- _bite!._ As he chased after the ball, he quickly bit into his finger and released it just as quick. From the audience's eyes it might look like he was wiping sweat from his mouth.

That, or he was trying to pull the meat off the bone of his index finger.

Kirihara went to receive another shot. He could tell there was even less power in this one. Returning the shot with full power, he bit into his finger and ran to receive the next shot. Again, Kaidoh was decreasing his power. Stop with the pitying goddamnit! Kirihara bit again, and returned the shot with full power. Kaidoh was throwing weak shots after another as if he was playing with a freshman. Kirihara bit and bit his finger as he returned every shot with his all but he was no longer feeling anything. By then, the shape of his teeth was mapped so deeply onto the skin that it looked like a dental replica.

That viper was fooling around with him. Kirihara could feel his stomach stirred, on a verge of eruption.

He flung his finger between his lips and bit down with all his strength. Finally, a twinge of pain. His tasting sense was also flooded with a coppery taste, but he did not heed it much thought. He returned the ball and it landed just after crossing the net. Kaidoh did not bother to chase after it. At last, 15-15. Kirihara smirked in mini victory.

His opponent did not look as thrilled though. Neither did his audiences. Kirihara licked his lips, cringing at the coppery taste still lingering very strongly behind. His mind was not registering what that flavor should be attributed to. What, was the shot not good enough? Kirihara furrowed his eyebrow. Also, was it him, or the sun was getting hotter? He also felt like the ground was moving. Did he catch a heatstroke?

Someone shrieked. "Kirihara-buchou, your finger!"

Kirihara glanced down. _Oh…_ So that's why he felt like he was sucking on iron all this while.

It was mostly obscured by the fresh scarlet blood, but he could see a semi-circle dent on his finger where the blood was the thickest, the pink raw flesh exposed to the air. The blood streamed from the crater on his finger, flowing freely down to his nail and falling as multiple droplets onto the green court. Apparently the dent was pretty deep, for he had accumulated a small pool of blood on the ground under his hand already. But why was he not feeling anything?

He dug his thumb into the wound. The pain shot up to his mind and exploded like a grenade filled with tacks. Kirihara let out an involuntary hiss, his eyes squinted shut. All he could see was blinding white pain. He felt like his brain was being fried, the sensation of hot mercury running through his veins and burning his body alive from the inside.

It stayed like that for what seemed like forever. Kirihara was not sure what had happened but the next thing he knew he was lying on the bed in the infirmary. It felt like the world was swaying, like he was drowning in liquid air. At the back of his mind there was this ghost feeling of something hammering his brain, something that Kirihara could not pinpoint. _What just happened?_ Kirihara scowled, pushing himself off the infirmary bed to search for the answer.

The moment he placed his left hand on the bed, he was given a not-so-gentle warning that knocked him back. He retracted his hand immediately, holding it before his eyes for inspection. The first thing that caught his eye was a huge chunk of white. His index finger was wrapped thoroughly in white bandages to the point that it doubled, or even tripled in size.

He brought up the finger to his mouth and opened his lips wide, baring his teeth. Right before the bandaged appendage could touch his lips, realization punched him in the gut and he froze. Flashes of the events that had happened invaded his mind. Tennis. Kaidoh. Devil. _Stay back!_. Finger. Bite. Bite. _Bite!._ Blood. Lots of blood.

"What are you doing?"

Kirihara looked up to the source of the gruff voice. Kaidoh was standing before him, throwing him a very suspicious look. Kirihara raised an eyebrow before he realized that he was still holding his finger close to his mouth and he quickly hid it behind his back. "Nothing." Kirihara said, averting his eyes. Inside, Kirihara was panicking. Shit, did Kaidoh notice? His eyes flew towards his other arm. Still safely hidden under the long sleeve, he noted with a relief.

"What happened?"

Kirihara rolled his eyes. Of course Kaidoh would have noticed. That thing stuck out like a sore thumb, literally. Great. Now he had to face that one dreadful question. If it's about the bruises, he had prepared a pretty good story to cover it up. He briefly wondered if he should try to divert Kaidoh's attention away from the finger by showing him his collection of bruises. He smacked himself mentally for even considering that.

He had to come up with something, quick. "Uh…" Kirihara stammered. He was never good at making up story.

"The ball has a spike in it?"

He tried.

Thankfully, Kaidoh did not seem too interested to push the topic further. "We'll continue our match when you're better." He gestured at the wound and walked away, leaving Kirihara alone with his own thoughts.

Kirihara stared at his freshly injured hand. He balled his hand into a fist, with the bandaged finger sticking out. _Fuck…FUCK!_ Kirihara slammed it onto the bed, relishing in the pain that tore his mind away.

He did not want to admit it, but he _needed_ Yanagi. He needed to beat the shit out of Yanagi, to vent all his rage on him so that he had nothing left to trigger his devil mode. That, or doing this kind of idiotic thing in matches. Thank god he had enough brain to not bite through his finger, but Kirihara did not trust himself to keep all his limbs attached if he kept this on.

His heart sank. He knew what to do. That did not mean he had to like it.

He walked away from the infirmary, ignoring the complaints from the doctor. He ignored the looks, the questions people threw him as he strolled towards the clubroom. He ignored his vice captain that was incessantly nagging beside him as Kirihara opened his locker and retrieved his phone.

Kirihara remembered the great lengths he had gone to end their weekly session, the amount of effort he put just to control his fist from targeting his arm to elsewhere. He recalled the constant stomach ache he had to endure; the days when he could no longer stand straight and how he decided to change it to his upper arm, and he could definitely remember those days when he felt like he could not lift his arm at all.

And he had been so excited to end their weekly session. No more of dealing with the embarrassment of counting down his self-made wounds. No more provocation and no more dreading himself as he felt himself slipping into his devil mode. All those efforts had finally paid off-!

So, what on earth was he doing now?

If Sanada-fukubuchou was there, he would have yelled 'TARUNDORU!' and slapped him for this madness. Even when they had graduated, his life was still in the hand of those three demons, or at least one of them. Kirihara bitterly laughed as he typed the message with his unharmed hand. He could feel anger rising within him but he set it aside for now. He knew he would get to paint the town, or rather Yanagi, red. As much as the sick idea made his stomach churn,

 _'Let's meet, senpai.'_

His lips were unwittingly twisted in a grin.


End file.
